


Serge

by nogoaway



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, F/F, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>South refuses to look too closely. And she's never seen Connie in dress blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serge

"It's not her," South says, with utter, blinding, world-ending relief. "It's not Connie."  
  
"South," her brother steps up next to her, lays a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Please."  
  
"We had to do some minor reconstructive surgery after she was thawed," the attendant says, with the practiced sympathetic calm of funeral home workers the world over. "After sub optimal shipping conditions, the result isn't always--"  
  
"It's not her." South folds her arms over her chest, looms a little. "Can we go, now?"  
  
"Ms. Lysenko," the attendant tries, holding the datapad in front of her like a shield. "You're listed as next-of-kin. We really need--"  
  
"South," North says again, right into her ear. "It's her. I'm sorry."  
  
South whirls on him. "I think I'd know my own fucking--" she cuts herself off, grabs him by the elbow. "C'mere. The fuck kind of scam is this? They didn't even get her rank right." She jabs a finger at the corpse's collar, the two silver bars, and her nail hits the glass with a tink. "Connie's _enlisted_."  
  
"We talked about this," North catches her around the waist, hugging her, pulling her back from the casket. "Pryce released her real file, remember? It was all over the news."  
  
"No," South hisses at him, glaring at the body in the box "I _don't_ remember. Because _that didn't happen_."  
  
"I'm sorry," North says, to the attendant, as South counts brass buttons, examines carefully angled seams and folds in the blue serge "maybe today isn't the best day."  
  
"What size boots?" South asks "What did you put on her, huh?"  
  
The attendant wavers for a moment, and then purses her lips, paging through something on the datapad with her finger. "She wore a size six."  
  
"She did," North agrees.  
  
"Doesn't mean anything," South insists. "What was she wearing when they found her? Under the undersuit--" A trick question. Connie went bare under her neoprene. South used to peel her out of it, smoothing the fabric down Connie's chest and legs with her palms, fingers trailing along skin--  
  
"This doesn't seem very respectful," the attendant says, with clear disapproval. "Regardless, she had been stripped for transit long before she came to us. Ms. Lysenko, I really do need you to sign this."  
  
"Respectful," South manages, over frantic laughter, at the same time as North steps forward between her and the attendant. "Respect? You wanna talk to me about respect, you with your rando stiff, calling me in here-- who put you up to it, huh? Was it Church?"  
  
"Would it be possible for me to sign for it?" North asks, with a tone that says he knows it won't be allowed _officially_ , but maybe they could stretch the rules just this once, to make everyone's day a little easier. That fucker.  
  
"No," South shoves past him, grabbing the datapad out of the woman's hands. The jolt knocks the stylus out of the clip and it clatters to the floor. "You know what? I'll sign the fucking thing. You can bury whoever the fuck this is, what do I care? I'll find her." She drags her index finger roughly across the line, looping her initials, A.K.L. with the point of her chipped, royal blue nail. "I'll find her."  
  
They drive back to the apartment in silence, South hanging her head out the window to enjoy the breeze and North glancing over at her, worry and pity etched into the lines of his forehead. Fuck him, anyway. South doesn't need anyone's pity, let alone her brother's.  
  
"I'll find you," she tells her pillow, when the sun has set on their little VA-funded housing complex and she's curled up naked in bed. "I will."

* * *

  
"So," Tex says, from the windowsill "I hear you're skipping out on the funeral."  
  
"Fuck off," South tells her, burrowing further under the blanket and into the crease of the sofa. The TV is on, has been on for hours. She's muted it, can't remember what she was watching in the first place. Doesn't really remember getting onto the sofa, now that she thinks about it. Did she eat breakfast? Must have. North wouldn't leave for work without making her eat breakfast.  
  
"You never were much of a team player." Tex cocks her head to the side, stray blonde hairs slipping, coiling around her neck. Liquid gold. She's impossibly beautiful. More human than human. "Or did you just forget what day it is? You're a mess."  
  
South reaches out to the coffee table to grab one of the ubiquitous empty beer bottles, and chucks it at Tex's head. Tex just laughs, leans sharply away, impossibly fast. The bottle goes right out the open window, and after a long moment she hears the crash and the tinkle of shattering glass. They're on the fourth floor. It's a long way down.  
  
"That's real mature." Tex quirks a grin at her. "You know it wouldn't kill you to pay your respects. You're next of kin. The family probably wants to meet the gal their kid was gonna marry." She leans back on her hands, kicking her legs out. "I'll be there."  
  
"Of course you will," South says. "You gonna see the folks? 'Hi, nice to meet you, I killed your daughter?'" She snorts, bitterly. "Nah. You'll stand in the back like the fuckin' coward you always were."  
  
Tex just shrugs. "That doesn't work on me," she crosses her feet at the ankles. It's cowboy boots today, and loose jeans and a flannel button-up. The hat is still her usual patrol cap, gray camo. It looks mismatched. "Save it for Carolina if you wanna fight so badly. Although," she leans forward, making a show of eying South head to toe "one of her recruits could probably flatten you right now. You look like shit. When was the last time you drank something with an ABV lower than six percent?"  
  
"Fuck you," South repeats. "The fuck do you know. You're not even--" she swallows, she's so close to saying it. Not even real. "Not even a-- a _person_."  
  
Tex laughs, impossibly loud from her impossible perch. South has stopped wondering how she gets up there; it used to be feasible, when she came in with sneakers, but the cowboy boots-- no. South shakes her head. She's not going to think about that. She scratches at the back of her neck, where the scars are, feels how they've healed over solid. Nothing there.  
  
"You know, she called me a shadow, once," Tex muses. "It bothered me a lot at the time. But now--" and she slips off the sill into the room without a sound, she's standing right at South's head before South can even blink. "I kind of like it. She had a way with words, our girl."  
  
"Don't," South says, into the cushion. "Don't call her that."  
  
"Your girl, then," Tex corrects, hands in her pockets. The left boot taps, soundlessly, against the fake wood floor panels. "But I notice she didn't leave you any _insurance policies_."  
  
"No," South spits, furious but so, so tired. She's so tired of all of this. "Just a note." _I love you. I'm sorry. Wait for me. I'll find you._  
  
Tex crouches down, meets her gaze. Her eyes are impossible green, and South swears she sees code wrapping in the irises, an ever expanding fractal. Tex's eyeliner is always perfectly, impossibly, symmetrical. No one wears makeup on active duty, but Tex's skin is clear and smooth as porcelain, her eyelids painted smoky black. South shivers.  
  
"You should take up a hobby, or something," Tex says, voice casual. "Get a job. You're too good for this, Agent South Dakota."  
  
Boots thumping up the stairs, and Tex snaps upright. The creak of the door opening, and she's out the open window, dropping out of sight. South listens closely, but there's no sound. She's not thinking about that.  
  
"South," North says, stepping around the couch and kneeling where Tex just was a moment ago, resting a hand on her forehead. "Jesus, have you been like this the whole time I was out?" He grabs the remote from her lap, powers down the TV. South hadn't realized that it had been humming until the screen switches off. The sudden silence is disconcerting.  
  
"Dunno," South grumbles, as North tucks sweaty hair behind her ear, wrinkles his nose. That fucker. Like he always smells like roses.  
  
"Fuck," he says, and hugs her around the shoulders, resting his upper body on the sofa "I knew I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's no big deal," South says, annoyed and a little confused "I ate breakfast. Remember? You made me an omelet." She remembers now. It was mushroom and spinach. With feta cheese.  
  
North rocks back on his heels, frowning at her. "Anja, that was Saturday morning. That was two days ago. I told you I was going to see York, remember?"  
  
"Oh," is all South can think to say, and then, "the laundry. I can't-- I don't think I turned it over, then."  
  
North heaves a sigh, and stands up, coaxing her into a sitting position. South's head spins. "You've got to be dehydrated-- let me get you some food, and then you need to take a shower." He makes sure she isn't going to topple over, and then vanishes around the corner into the kitchen. South hears the fridge open and close, and then a cabinet, and then the sink running.  
  
North hands her a glass of water and a peeled banana. South stares at both of them, and then sets the banana on the coffee table, wiping her hand on her jeans.  
  
"The laundry," South repeats, trying to remember. She would have gone into the closet with the hamper, and then put everything in the wash, and turned it on, and it would have buzzed-- did she do that? "Did it buzz?"  
  
"Don't worry about the laundry. Drink," he orders, and she drinks, two small swallows, and then the rest of the glass. Fuck, she _is_ thirsty.  
  
North reaches for the empty cup, but she bats him away, staggering onto her feet. She'll refill it in the bathroom, needs to piss anyhow. She's needed to piss for like five hours, but getting up didn't seem like it would be worth it. "Be back in a sec." North nods.  
  
South has her piss, gulps water straight out of the tap, and then fills the glass up. She brushes her teeth for good measure, trying not to look in the mirror, and feels much more alive by the end of it. When she comes back out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, North is in the kitchen, pulling vegetables and packages out of two tall grocery bags on the counter.  
  
"Two days, huh." South says, sipping her water. Her stomach growls. Her entire body is beginning to register how unhappy it is with how she's been treating it, lately. Her back aches from the sofa.  
  
"God damn it. It's this Wednesday, isn't it?" North sets a can of beans down, loudly, on a shelf. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I should have re-scheduled."  
  
South shrugs, leaning on the counter and watching him sort foods, vegetables in the crisper, milk in the door. "So what? I'm not going."  
  
North sighs. "We talked about this. I think it would be helpful for you. To see her, to see her family. You don't have to say anything, you don't have to stay the whole time. I'm happy to go with you."  
  
"No," South says, shortly. North sets a bag of tortilla chips on the counter and she tears into it, ravenous.  
  
"You have to start accepting it, Anja." He slides a jar of salsa over to her anyhow, and South twists it open.  
  
"I don't _have_ to do anything," she crunches, worrying at her molars with her tongue to get bits of soggy tortilla chip out. "And don't fucking psycho-- mind shrink me."  
  
"True," North says, with just a hint of snappishness "you don't have to do anything. You're an adult." He closes the refrigerator door just a touch too slowly, so South gets the message that he's _not_ slamming it. Poor North. It must get exhausting, being such a fucking martyr all the time. "It's just that I forget, sometimes."  
  
"Uh huh," South slurps salsa off a chip. "Good for you. I'm still not going."  
  
"Weren't you going to take a shower?" North asks, just short of glaring at her. South can see the wrinkles starting to form between his eyebrows. This is good. If North is annoyed with her, he'll stop fussing so damn much.  
  
"How's York?" She asks, mildly.  
  
"York is fine," North returns, with equally forced mildness, "I'll be sure to let him know you asked after his health. It will make his day."  
  
South rolls the chip bag up and crouches down to get at the fridge. North steps aside, making room for her. "Awesome."  
  
"You know," North says, as South pulls out a packet of luncheon meat and a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, "We could compromise."  
  
"Uh huh," South mutters absently, setting to work making her sandwich on the bare counter.  
  
"I won't bug you about the funeral if you come to group with me. One session."  
  
"Ugh." South rolls her eyes, slicing off rectangles of cheddar. "I have had _so_ much more than enough of that--"  
  
"I know." North loops arms around her waist, rests his chin on her hair. South considers elbowing him, but she's way too tired for a physical squabble. Too tired for a verbal one too, apparently. "But it's not like the ones at the hospital. No doctors, no bullshit."  
  
"There's always bullshit." South slops mayo onto a slice of wheat. "It's the VA, isn't it?"  
  
North chuckles a little. "Well, yeah. But Wash is basically running it, so..." he huffs breath onto her scalp. "You _really_ need to shower."  
  
"Eat a dick," South returns, automatically. "Also? That is not a selling point."  
  
"Oh, come on." North nuzzles back into her hair anyway, so it can't smell that bad "Don't tell me you don't miss the guys. Not even a little?" He pokes her in the side, lightly. " _Maine_ asked after you last week."  
  
"I see 'em plenty," South grumbles, suddenly cold. She slaps the sandwich together, stuffs the crust into her mouth. She sees Tex plenty, anyhow. More than enough for two lifetimes, or however many lifetimes that woman's at, at this point. Fucking impossible. She chews, swallows. "But fine. I'll think about it."  
  
"All right." North brushes a palm over her forehead, actually kisses her on the top of the head. He's warm and solid and real. She's never tried to touch Tex. She doesn't want to know. Either it's really Tex, or South is crazy, and neither option is appealing. "I'm gonna go deal with the laundry, okay?"  
  
Fuck. It's probably got mildew from sitting wet in the washer. "Fuck," South mumbles, around her mouthful of bread and cheese and fake meat.  
  
North unwinds his limbs and pats her on the shoulder as he sets off down the hall.  
  
"Oh," he calls from the closet, when South's finished her meal and the glass of water and finds herself standing at the counter and staring at her hands, immobilized again by her own inertia. "By the way. An envelope came for you. I put it on the table. I think it's your back pay, finally."  
  
South looks. There's an envelope, big and tan, with red DO NOT BEND in block print on the side. That envelope has been on the table since North came in with the groceries, but she'd looked straight through it. Like Tex, she hadn't wanted to see.  
  
South unwinds the clasp with numb fingers and runs her nail under the flap, unsealing it. The datapad inside is thin, disposable, but uncracked thanks to the padded envelope. She turns it on. Her heart is racing.  
  
The welcome screen reads:  
  
The information contained herein has been released to the public with substantial redaction.  
  
Subject: Captain Constance H. Lockerby. File No.: 3297-HG4-G792  
  
_Proceed?_  
  
South's finger hovers over the 'Yes' option. _Captain_ Lockerby. It's all wrong. 

The screen blinks, warning her that it may time out.  
  
_Proceed?_

It's impossible.  
  
She turns the tablet off and goes to take a shower.  


**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "Seeing love interest in formal wear for the first time."


End file.
